


Mistletoe's Overrated Anyway

by stilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Laura Hale, Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, I should have posted this here a week ago oops, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinski/pseuds/stilinski
Summary: Derek remembers a hyperactive eleven year old with a buzzcut and an irritating habit of getting underfoot - his memory doesn’t lend to the lean, doe eyed brunet in his hallway; he’s talking on his phone and scowling something fierce but Derek’s mouth goes dry at the way Stiles runs long fingers through his hair.“Coffee?” Derek asks abruptly, turning to look at Laura. “There’s a fresh pot. Cora’s gone out on a last minute supply run - is, uh, Stiles staying?”“I offered your wonderful hospitality until he can find a flight to take him home,” Laura says, following him back into the kitchen and leaving Stiles in the hall. “I know you have the space, and it seemed a shame to leave him stranded. Nobody should be alone on Christmas.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this last week on Tumblr and it's taken me all week to stop procrastinating long enough to post it here, so I'm squeezing it in just before the New Year.
> 
> I haven't done my usual oh-shit-I-should-probably-actually-check-this-over-for-errors, so please ignore those and focus on the (hopefully) delightful late Christmas tale.
> 
> Happy winter! Happy New Year, too, whenever it arrives for y'all ♥
> 
> *
> 
> **Additionally: I do not give my consent for my work to be shared on GoodReads, or any other site with a similar objective. Ever. No exceptions.**

Derek glances up when he hears the front door open and close, and frowns when Laura doesn’t immediately announce herself. He wipes his hands on the dish towel hanging from his belt loop and goes to investigate, finding his sister in the entryway with a stranger.

Laura’s face lights up and she drops all of her bags, launching at him. “Derek!”

Despite the surprise of an unannounced guest, Derek smiles and squeezes her, pressing his nose into her hair. “I didn’t think you were bringing anyone,” Derek says when they finally part.

“I wasn’t,” Laura says. “I was lucky to even get here. All of the flights out are cancelled for the foreseeable future because of the weather, and I ran into Stiles, of all people. You remember Stiles Stilinski, right? From Cora’s class?”

Derek remembers a hyperactive eleven year old with a buzzcut and an irritating habit of getting underfoot - his memory doesn’t lend to the lean, doe eyed brunet in his hallway; he’s talking on his phone and scowling something fierce but Derek’s mouth goes dry at the way Stiles runs long fingers through his hair.

“Coffee?” Derek asks abruptly, turning to look at Laura. “There’s a fresh pot. Cora’s gone out on a last minute supply run - is, uh, _Stiles_ staying?”

“I offered your wonderful hospitality until he can find a flight to take him home,” Laura says, following him back into the kitchen and leaving Stiles in the hall. “I know you have the space, and it seemed a shame to leave him stranded. Nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Derek points out. “How did you even recognise him? We haven’t seen him in ten years.”

“He recognised me, actually,” Laura says, hopping up onto the bar stool at the island counter; Derek swipes the pie he’s just finished putting together before she can try and stick her fingers into it. “Some asshole shoved his suitcase out right in front of me while I was walking so the coffee I’d just bought went everywhere, and Stiles was talking to the security guard who came over when the guy with the suitcase started yelling at me.”

At that moment, Stiles shuffles in. “Uh, hey,” he says, only moving out of the doorway when Laura beckons him; Stiles looks at Derek. “Your sister assured me you’d be fine with an unplanned guest, but, uh, I can probably find a hotel or something.”

Derek snorts. “Not at a reasonable price, right before Christmas, in New York,” he says. “I have a spare room - you’re welcome to it as long as you promise you’re not a kleptomaniac.”

Stiles blinks; Laura throws a little ball of pastry dough at Derek, turning to Stiles to explain. “One guy. You bring home one guy, four years ago, who happened to be a little bit of a magpie and my brother will never, ever let it go.”

“I’m still pretty sure he stole my boots,” Derek says, shoving the pie into the oven and setting about wiping down the counter. “And Cora’s favourite sweater.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “What did the airport say?”

“It doesn’t look like there’ll be flights out until at least Boxing Day,” Stiles says, amusement fading from his face. “I’m gonna call my dad in a bit and tell him I can’t make it home for Christmas. Are you sure it’s all right that I stay? I don’t want to impose or anything - I’ll stay out of the way.”

“It’s fine - I have Cora, Laura and Malia to contend with,” Derek says, doesn’t question the fact Stiles was lying about calling his dad – he probably just feels awkward and wants to get out of the way. “You might actually even the playing field a little – and we always have plenty of food, so it’s no trouble.”

“Thanks, dude - I really appreciate this. I’d have just gone back to my own apartment, but the lease was up so my roommate and I just moved out - he’s taking a year out so it didn’t make much sense to keep the place; can’t afford it on my own.”

“I’ll show you to the guest room,” Derek says. “Laura, can you call Malia and find out where she is? And don’t let Cora back in the house if she tries to come back without the sweet potatoes.”

Laura salutes him and reaches for a coffee mug, scrolling through her emails on her phone. Derek guides Stiles back out into the hall.

“Is there anything you need? You’re free to use the washer and dryer,” he says, watching Stiles heft his rucksack; Derek picks up the suitcase he doesn’t recognise as Laura’s and leads the way up the stairs. “Your room doesn’t have an en suite, but the bathroom’s right across from it. You can take a shower if you like, too.”

“This is already more than I could have hoped for,” Stiles says. “The airline were just gonna put me up in a budget hotel at best - you have to let me pay you back somehow.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says. “Just keep things relatively tidy and don’t walk around the house naked in the middle of the night.”

“I thought everybody did that,” Stiles says; Derek glances back to see him grinning teasingly. “Another of Laura’s exes?”

“I found him sitting on my counter eating Cheerio’s out of the box at two A.M.,” Derek says, nudging his way into one of the unoccupied rooms. “Legs spread, dish towel tucked under his balls because, apparently, stone counters are cold.”

Stiles snorts. “Did you bleach everything?”

“I burned the towel,” Derek says solemnly. “And my countertop has never been the same.”

He sets the suitcase down on the bed and gestures around. “Make yourself at home,” he says. “I’m not entirely unaccustomed to Laura bringing someone unannounced, or stray family friends appearing, so the sheets shouldn’t be musty. If you need anything, just let me know - if I’m not downstairs, my room is above this one.”

Stiles smiles at him, sinking down onto the bed. “I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, dude,” he says. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll nap and then take a shower. Is it all right if I get take out delivered later?”

“Sure,” Derek says slowly. “But you can eat with us if you’re awake - you don’t need to hide away until Boxing Day. Like I said, there’s always a ton of spare food, not just on Christmas. Cora and I are used to cooking for one, and Laura tends to dine out more often than not, so when we’re together, we all tend to go overboard. You’re more than welcome to join in.”

Stiles looks like he wants nothing more. He smiles again, but it looks a little more strained. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “Thanks. Uh, can I charge my phone?”

“Outlets are by the bed, either side, and there are a couple by the dresser, too - as long as you don’t overload the place, you can plug in anything you like,” Derek says. “We’ll be downstairs. Fair warning: Laura and Cora like a glass of wine or six with dinner, so things might get a little noisy.”

Stiles nods and busies himself with fishing out his phone charger so Derek takes the hint and turns to leave. He glances over his shoulder as he reaches the door to see Stiles covering his eyes with one hand and sinking down onto the bed, shoulders hunched; Derek makes a mental note to come up and check on him later, and returns to the kitchen just as Cora bursts in, arms laden with far more groceries than Derek sent her for.

“Malia’s in traffic,” Laura says.

“God help everyone on that road,” Derek says; both Cora and Laura nod solemnly before Cora ropes them into putting away the food.

*

Malia arrives in a mountain of shopping and gift bags and a dusting of snow, her expression thunderous up until she spots her cousins; she visibly inhales and her whole frame relaxes, dumping her armloads of gifts on the counter as Laura wraps her in a hug.

“We said one gift each,” Cora says, prodding at the bags.

Malia shrugs, dragging her into a hug. “Peter’s doing his yearly I-Don’t-Feel-Guilty-But-Here’s-My-Card song and dance, so everybody’s got whatever the nice salespeople recommended.”

Laura ruffles her hair and then scoops up the gifts to put them under the tree in the living room. Derek rests his chin on top of Malia’s head when she ducks under his arm, humming contentedly now that she’s smothered in their scents.

She freezes when she goes to pull away, lifting her head. “Who’s showering?”

“What? Oh, Stiles,” Derek says. “Laura ran into one of Cora’s old school friends at the airport and he’s stranded here until the snow clears, so she offered him a place to stay.”

“The Sheriff’s kid?” Cora asks. “I don’t know if I’d have called us friends.”

“You guys went to the sixth grade dance together,” Laura says, looping her arm around Cora’s neck. “It was adorable - he gave you a fake corsage and you cherished it.”

Cora makes an outraged noise.

“Then you ripped it up because Stiles kept talking about Lydia Martin on your play dates,” Laura continues. “Spent the whole day crying because you immediately regretted tearing it up.”

“Didn’t mom go and buy a new one?”

“It wasn’t the same,” Cora grumbles, and submits to the cheek-pinching Laura subjects her to.  
Derek smiles and shakes his head, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven. Immediately, three hands appear and he has to slap them away. “Still hot,” he says, waving the spatula at them threateningly. “You’ll burn yourselves.”

“What’s the good in instantaneous healing if we don’t get to use it?” Malia asks, but she crosses the kitchen to wash her hands and begin peeling potatoes. In short order, Laura commandeers two pots and the cooker, and Cora’s rolled her sleeves up to begin rolling out the bread dough she’d left to prove earlier.

*

An extra plate is set out without Derek mentioning that Stiles might want something to eat, so while the girls are finishing up, he makes his way upstairs, tapping lightly on the guest room door - Stiles makes an enquiring noise from within so he opens it, eyes immediately going to Stiles perched on the end of his bed with his phone cradled between his hands.

“Hey,” Derek says. “If you’re hungry, dinner’s ready. You don’t have any dietary requirements, do you? I should have asked earlier. I mean, I can make something else if you have, it’s no trouble…”

Stiles gives him a wan smile. “No dietary needs, no - I’ll eat pretty much anything,” he says, then sighs and drops his phone on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “If it’s not too much trouble? I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. I’ll grant that it’s a pretty unorthodox way of doing it, but you’re invited to spend Christmas with us, Stiles,” Derek says. “I’m not just saying it to be polite.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, and accepts the hand Derek offers to pull him to his feet. There’s a beat in which they’re only inches apart, hands clasped, and Derek’s overwhelmed by how Stiles smells - warm and sad and alone.

“No problem,” Derek says, voice lower than he intended; Stiles’ eyes flit to his mouth and back to his eyes, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, throat convulsing as he swallows.

“Derek!” Cora hollers. “Food!”

Derek jerks away, the spell broken. Stiles gives him a tiny grin, cheek flushing pink.

“Come on,” Derek says, stepping back and dropping Stiles’ hand. Stiles falls into step behind him, his scent suddenly less lonely.

*

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to adjust to his surroundings - within ten minutes, he has Malia snorting into her eggnog and Cora playfully scowling. He catches Derek’s eye over the table and his smile goes warm and soft for a moment before Laura snatches his attention by asking if he remembers the corsage he’d given Cora.

Derek jerks at the jab of an elbow to his ribs; Malia gives him a wide eyed, innocent look; he knocks his knee into hers under the table.

They pounce as soon as Stiles has offered to help Cora get dessert.

“So, Stiles grew up pretty,” Laura says, propping her chin upon her laced fingers. “Don’t you think?”

Derek doesn’t even try to deny anything - it isn’t worth the effort or the relentless ribbing he’ll get by attempting it. “Leave it,” he says. “He’s nice, but none of us need Christmas to turn into one of your ridiculous matchmaking attempts - least of all him. He’s pretty upset about not being able to go home, and it’s gonna suck for him tomorrow when he doesn’t have any gifts or anything remotely personal - the person in this house who knows him best is Cora, and that was a decade ago.”

“There’s some stuff we could give him,” Malia says, nodding at the twinkling tree at the other end of the room. “I brought extra, and most of it’s pretty generic. I’ll go through it tonight when everyone’s gone to bed and shuffle stuff around.”

“Good idea,” Laura says, and for all Malia attempts to appear nonchalant, her scent prickles with pleasure at her alpha’s approval. She reaches over the table to seize the bottle of wine, topping everyone’s glasses up just as Cora and Stiles reappear.

“Have you seen the snow?” Laura asks as though they hadn’t been talking about anything else. “We’re totally building midnight snowmen.”

“I don’t have any real winter stuff with me,” Stiles says, sliding back into his seat opposite Derek; their feet bump together and Stiles glances at him but doesn’t shy away; Derek’s stomach does something funny. “I’ll be moral support.”

“It’s New York - why don’t you have winter stuff?” Malia asks. Even werewolves (and coyotes) wrap up warm.

“I was supposed to be on my way to California,” Stiles points out. “What winter things I do own are all in storage.”

“You can borrow mine,” Derek says. “I’ll have spares - you’re spending Christmas with us, the least you could do is share the potential hypothermia.”

Stiles laughs and it’s only Malia conveniently swaying into him that keeps Derek from getting lost in the sound.

“So, Stiles, how did things work out between you and that harlot, Lydia Martin?” Cora asks, timing it so that Stiles all but chokes on the bite of cake he’d been attempting to swallow. Laura obligingly thumps him on the back until he manages to force it down, eyes watering.

“I’d say the ship has sailed, but if I’m being honest, it never even left the harbour,” Stiles says after a moment. “She’s at MIT right now, dating men with half my wit and a couple thousand times my bank balance.”

“You guys stay in touch?”

“Oh, yeah - we have a group chat,” Stiles says, sipping from his wine glass. “And we all get together at holidays. We all went through some stuff in high school that I don’t think anyone can just walk away from.”

Derek watches his sisters and Malia gently interrogate Stiles about his life - Stiles’ expression says he knows exactly what’s going on but he doesn’t seem to mind, even fires a couple of questions back as he toys with his glass. Derek can barely take his eyes off him.

*

Stiles volunteers to help Derek wash up and Derek ignored the leers his sisters send him as he collects the dishes from the table, ‘accidentally’ knocking Malia into the table as he passes.

“How are you holding up?” Derek asks once the kitchen door closes behind them and they have at least the illusion of privacy.

For the first time all evening, Stiles’ jovial expression slips a little and he sags against the counter. “I’m good,” he says, and there’s nothing about him that suggests it’s a lie. “I just - I’ve missed a lot these past couple of years so that I could finish school a year earlier, and I thought I’d finally be able to surprise everyone by going home. I guess I’d psyched myself up too much.”

“Nobody knew you were heading home?” Derek asks; Stiles shakes his head and drags his fingertips through his hair with an oddly sad sounding laugh.

“Maybe it’s better that way. I’m not letting anybody down more than usual, at least,” Stiles says. “My dad spends his holidays with Melissa, so they’ll be fine without me. I’ll call them tomorrow and it’ll be fine, I guess.”

Derek aches for him, wants to wrap his arms around him and comfort him. “Won’t they have send mail?”

“I told them not to - postage, you know,” Stiles says. He turns to pick up the dish cloth and abruptly begins washing up. Without questioning him, Derek begins drying.

“So you finished up school a year early? Had enough of New York’s charms?”

Stiles visibly relaxes at the subject change. “I actually just wanted to get it over and done with,” he says. “I kind of love New York, but life would be easier if I was earning, you know? There are a couple of places I’ve interned or done unpaid work for that I’m hoping will be getting back to me with an offer or two. I don’t really have any particular ambitions - I’m not looking to be a big CEO of a massive corporation or anything; I just want somewhere I can work and earn enough to be comfortable so that I can eventually write. What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m an editor,” Derek says. “Mostly books, but I freelance so I tend to take whatever I can get. It gives me the freedom to work from home in the event I’m sporadically invaded by Hales.”

Stiles smiles down at his hands, rinsing the suds off the last of the plates. “You sister wasn’t serious about snowmen, right?”

“Oh, she was,” Derek says. “Laura loves snow and winter - it’s part of the reason we stayed east instead of going back to California. I’m afraid midnight snowmen are definitely happening. If it’s any consolation, midnight hot chocolate is also a thing that’ll be happening.”

*

Derek nearly chokes at the way Stiles smells wrapped up in his clothes, at the way the end of his nose goes pink within minutes of being outside. Somehow, their snowman building has turned into some kind of competition - from what Derek can gather, Stiles has teamed up with Laura against Cora and Malia and they’re each trying to destroy the opposing team’s snowman.

Derek, for his part, ducks inside to check on the hot chocolate and claims to be Switzerland when he’s out in the yard.

Stiles pounces on him out of nowhere, dark eyes mirthfully glittering in the light from the house, and dumps a handful of loose snow on his head. He grins and then ducks away, packing a new snowball together in order to pelt Malia.

“Why are you attacking me? I didn’t do anything!”

“This is war, soldier! Pick a side!” Stiles calls, breathless and ducking an errant snowball Malia had been aiming at Laura.

“And attacking me was supposed to endear me to your side?” Derek asks, shuddering at the feeling of snow sliding down his back. Stiles shoots a grin at him over his shoulder and shrugs. As soon as he looks away, Derek charges, grabbing Stiles around the waist and hefting him onto his shoulder. Stiles yelps and drops the armful of snowballs he’d collected in order to grab the back of Derek’s jacket for balance.

“Oh, so you can probably benchpress me,” Stiles mutters, probably not even meaning for Derek to hear him “That’s not alarmingly hot at all. Jesus.”

“It’s not my fault you’re probably a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Derek says, and Stiles curses - definitely hadn’t meant for Derek to hear.

“One fifty six, actually,” Stiles says, indignant. He doesn’t even so much as wriggle to try and get away, however. “We can’t all be a real life representation of G.I. Joe.”

Derek smothers a grin. “Well, not everyone’s into that kind of thing,” he says, pointedly ignoring his sisters and Malia snickering and whispering.

Stiles snorts. “Right,” he says. “So people don’t just throw themselves before you and beg you to step on them?”

“You know, they don’t,” Derek says, mock thoughtful. “So, unless you’re offering to be the first?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t really fall at your feet on account of your lugging me around like a sack of potatoes,” Stiles quips.

“Oh, you want me to put you down?” Derek asks. “I can do that.”

He tips Stiles off his shoulder and straight into a pile of snow at the end of the yard, watching him flail and only manage to sink several inches deeper.

“It doesn’t count if you’re the one who throws me at your feet,” Stiles says grumpily, but there’s a glint in his eyes and a faint smile tugging at his lips. He holds out a hand and pouts, managing to look both ridiculous and adorable. Derek knows it’s a trick but he reaches out anyway, not even acting surprised when he’s yanked down into the snowbank.

“I’m cold,” Stiles whines. “I think there’s snow in my pants.”

“You should have thought of that before you pulled me down here,” Derek says. “I’m pretty sure you could have convinced me to carry you back into the house. Could have guilted me into doting upon your every whim. You could have had a good old tug on the heartstrings and you ruined it all.”

“Oh really? How far could I have pushed my luck?” The way Stiles’ voice grows a fraction deeper has Derek grateful everyone headed back inside just after Stiles hit the snow.

“Guess we’ll never know,” Derek props himself up on an elbow and smirks down at Stiles, who narrows his eyes in response. “Come on, your hot chocolate will be getting cold.”

“Hot? I don’t understand that concept. Tell me, Derek, what’s it like to be warm? I don’t remember.”

Derek laughs and sits up. “You only have yourself to blame, pulling me down here when I could have carried you back inside by now.”

He pushes himself to his feet and turns to help Stiles when he promises not to drag him down again.

They make it back up to the house and Stiles is shivering in earnest, making no move to take off his layers. Laura, Cora and Malia - plus their share of the hot chocolate - are conspicuously absent and Derek rolls his eyes, making his way over to the stove to pour a mug for Stiles, guiding him over to the counter island.

“I’ll get you something warm to change into,” Derek says, and hastens out of his room.

Laura follows Derek to his room looking smug. “Who’s the best sister in the world? Go on, you can say it - I won’t be embarrassed.”

“Definitely Cora,” Derek says without looking up from pulling two pairs of sweats from his dresser. It occurs to him that Stiles probably has suitable clothing of his own, but Derek’s consciously ignoring the fact something about Stiles has Derek behaving like a teenager, wanting to cover him in his scent. He shrugs out of his jacket and sweater to pull a dry hoody over his head, changing into his sweats after kicking off his shoes.

“Come on, Derek; he couldn’t be more obvious about being interested,” Laura says. “Relax, have a little fun - I swear it won’t kill you.”

“I don’t want a little fun,” Derek says, brushinf past her. “He’s leaving as soon as the airline can find him a flight, and who knows if we’ll ever even see him again? Let it go.”

Without waiting for a reply, he heads downstairs to find Stiles in almost exactly the same position he’d been left in, the only difference being that his mug is half empty.

“Here,” says Derek. “We’re probably going to pile into the den to watch crappy holiday movies until someone falls asleep - want to join us?”

Stiles’ response is a jaw-cracking yawn and a heavy eyed smile. “Only if you tell me there’s more hot chocolate. Damn, dude, what’s in this stuff?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Derek says with a grin. “I’ll top you up - you change.”

Stiles hums and slips from the high chair, tugging Derek’s coat and the thermal shirt he’s borrowed off. Derek almost drops the pan of chocolate on his own foot when Stiles grabs the back of his t-shirt and yanks it off, too. Without compunction, Stiles pulls on the dry sweater Derek had given him and starts on his own belt buckle - his shoes are already on the floor under his chair.

Derek tears his gaze away just as Stiles does this little shimmy with his hips so that his jeans fall so his ankles, determinedly focusing on stirring the hot chocolate.

By the time he turns back, Stiles has folded the discarded clothing into a neat pile and is perched on the chair again.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Derek asks; Stiles blinks owlishly at him, curling his fingers around his fresh cup. “Do you have enough pillows, is it warm enough in your room?”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Uh, no, everything’s fine, dude. Thanks. Believe me, I’d be pretty stoked even if you could only offer me the couch or something - I was pretty sure I was going to have to spend the next few nights in an airport lounge or a creepy motel - I’m kind of blown away by the establishment you’re running here. You definitely need to let me pay you back somehow.”

Derek opens his mouth to suggest he’ll take payment in being allowed to take Stiles to dinner if he comes back to New York, but Cora barges in and he chickens out.

“Are you guys going to stand here flirting all night or are you watching a movie with us?” she asks, dumping three empty mugs into the sink and then strutting right back out again. Derek feels warm, embarrassed like he’s a teenager all over again, and his only consolation is Stiles’ cheeks are faintly flushed, too.

“Well, with an invitation like that…” Derek gestures and Stiles gives him a tiny grin, hopping down to follow after Cora.

*

Christmas morning dawns and Derek’s woken by Cora hammering on his door and yelling about presents. Derek groans in protest but she’s moved on to wake Laura in much the same fashion. By the sounds of things, they’re the only two still trying to sleep.

What finally convinces him to leave his bed is the faint scent of fresh coffee and something cooking. Stifling a yawn, Derek shrugs on a hoody, leaving it unzipped as he steps into his sweats and goes to brush his teeth.

It’s Stiles at the stove when Derek gets down; he’s scrambling eggs in a pan and doesn’t look up when Derek enters.

“Cora and Malia look ready to just start opening everything,” Stiles says. “I’d get through there quick. Coffee’s on the side - I wasn’t sure how you take it.”

“Any way he damn well pleases,” Malia says cheerily; the pom pom of her Santa hat bouncing as she slides into the room on socked feet, slinging an arm around Derek’s neck. “Isn’t that right, cousin mine? Versatility, thy name is Derek.”

Stiles is flushing and smothering a grin and it takes Derek a few moments to figure out why. He settles for making an exasperated sound and shuffling towards coffee. Malia snorts, snatching up a pancake and disappearing again.

“There’s some stuff in there for you, you know,” Derek says. “It’s not personal or anything, but you should get a proper Christmas morning, Hale family style.”

Stiles looks up, surprised, and promptly seems to forget what he was going to say as his eyes drag over Derek’s exposed torso. “Um.” He physically shakes his head. “Man, I don’t have anything for you guys - I’m fine here.”

“Don’t make me get Laura,” Derek says, smothering a grin - he’s not an idiot, he knows what he looks like, and people being so obvious usually makes him uncomfortable, but he likes how flustered Stiles gets. “Come on.”

Stiles loads the eggs onto a plate already piled with toast and hands it to Derek and in turn allows Derek to herd him through to where his three favourite woman are grouped around the tree, each with a small pile of gifts. By some crazy coincidence, Stiles’ gifts are right next to Derek’s, closer together than anyone else’s.

"You guys shouldn’t have—really, I’m fine to just make breakfast and get out of the way.“

Laura hooks an arm around his shoulders, drags him to sit on the rug with everyone else while Derek slumps to the ground, putting his coffee and food aside.

"Bear in mind your presents are literally just based on the fact you have a dick and whatever Cora could remember about you from school,” Malia tells Stiles cheerfully. “But if you’d rather a floral perfume or something, I’m pretty sure there’ll be one in here somewhere you can have.”

Stiles grins at her and toys with the ribbon of one of his gifts – professionally wrapped, Derek assumes, because he’s borne witness to Malia and wrapping paper, and they don’t get along that well.

"Baby goes first,“ Laura says; Cora scowls but doesn’t protest.

And so it goes: there’s a brief discussion as to whether Stiles or Malia is older – Stiles, by a few months – then Derek followed by Laura, going around until nobody has anything left to open and the room look like it’s been hit by a wrapping-paper filled hurricane.

Derek leans back against the couch and cradles his coffee cup to his chest, shoulder brushing Stiles’.

"Not what you’d hoped for, but not terrible?” Derek asks, watching him toy with a box of novelty socks Malia had brought in with her.

Stiles turns his head to look at Derek, eyelashes partly lowered. “Not terrible, no,” he agrees softly. “I—I want to thank you, again, for all of this – I’m practically a stranger and you’re welcoming me into your home, sharing presents that were meant for you with me.”

"Malia’s dad paid for them,“ Derek says with a smirk and a shrug. "Uncle Peter’s… eccentric. Her mom was a fling and she put Malia up for adoption – Malia tracked Peter down as soon as she turned sixteen and since then, Peter’s been paying for her affections.”

"Peter—like, Peter Hale, the multi-millionaire celebrity lawyer guy?“

"Exactly like,” Derek says. “So he can afford it. What you should feel guilty about is missing out on the time Malia got him to pay for an all-expenses vacation to Hawaii for us.”

Stiles laughs a little disbelievingly – more astonishment than scepticism, Derek thinks – but he stops looking so guilty about inspecting his gifts, enough that Derek leans close enough that their shoulders are actually pressed against one another rather than occasionally brushing, unable to help himself.

Stiles doesn’t move away. If anything, he seems to relax further.

*

Dinner is as all dinners with more than two Hales are – loud and chaotic. Laura threatens to stab Cora over the last slice of ham but Derek steals it while Laura’s topping up the wine glasses, shoving it onto Stiles’ plate because he’d been eyeing it; Malia laments the lack of Christmas pudding if only because she can’t reasonably set any of the other dessert options on fire; Derek lets Cora force a pink paper crown onto his head and puts up with both of his sisters making not-subtle comments about his perpetual singleness.

The first course had seen Stiles relatively reserved – he’d gone upstairs around noon and called his father and had only come back down when Derek went to fetch him, promising he wasn’t intruding at all – but he’d warmed up pretty quickly, putting on his red paper crown at a jaunty angle.

They’re all spaced far enough apart at the table that nobody touches unless it’s deliberate – and Stiles does reach out to nudge Derek’s arm or shoulder or leg more than once. Derek reciprocates readily, telling himself it’s just because he’s a tactile person to begin with, despite the knowing looks of his sibling and Malia.

Since Derek did the lion’s share of the cooking and preparation, and Stiles is a guest, the tipsy trio insist on washing up. Derek reaches for his water glass mostly for something to do with his hands.

"Doing okay?“

Stiles hums, heavy eyed, and nods. "I don’t remember the last time I ate so much,” he says, smiling. “I don’t even think my Thanksgiving dinner compared to that. How are you guys not built like houses, man? I can’t believe how much we all ate. Where does it all go?”

"We do a lot of exercise,“ Derek says with a shrug; it’s not the first time they’ve had to offer such an explanation. "It’s not like we eat like that all the time – I live here alone most of the year so I usually only cook for one, same as the others. On the plus side, it means we always have extra food.”

Stiles smiles, eyes drifting around the room and settling on the window. His smile droops a little. “Snow isn’t letting up, is it?”

"Did you call the airline?“

"I’m supposed to call first thing in the morning,” Stiles says, sighing. “But the snow’s heavier and deeper than it was when they called the flights off so I don’t see how they’re gonna be able to offer me anything.”

"You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. They’re probably clearing the runways around the clock, might be clear enough for tomorrow. Have you tried other airports?“

"I did tell them I could probably get to any airport within a few hours’ drive if there were any flights going,” Stiles tells him. “Man, I love New York but I miss California’s general imperviousness to snow. At least where I live, anyway.”

"You think you’ll come back out east?“ Derek asks, as casually as he possibly can.

For some reason, Stiles smiles at that and twirls his wine glass between his fingertips. "I think I could be convinced,” he says – Derek hears one of his sisters squeal before being hastily shushed by the other two and has to fight not to growl at them. Stiles glances at him. “I mean, there’s the possible job offers, and maybe grad school to consider. If there was somebody out here I could hang out with occasionally to keep me from going out of my mind… yeah. I could be convinced.”

Stiles’ heart is beating double time and he smells warm and content but also nervous. Derek leans back in his chair. “Well, my door’s always open,” he says and damn it, he knows he told Laura he wasn’t interested but he is and he can’t help it. “If you got any of those offers, you could stay here until you figured stuff out. Cheaper than a hotel or renting a short term apartment.”

"Infinitely better company too,“ Stiles says; he’s smiling outright now, turned in his chair enough that he’s facing Derek more than the table.

"Malia’s great to be around,” Derek says, mock serious, and Stiles smacks his arm, laughing. Derek’s had just enough wine that he doesn’t feel weird about catching Stiles’ hand before he can withdraw it, idly examining his fingers. Stiles doesn’t protest or pull away.

"We should swap numbers, keep in touch,“ Stiles says in an altogether new tone of voice – serious but warm, hopeful. "You know, just in case I’m ever in need of rescuing again.”

Derek traces his fingertips over Stiles’ knuckles, following the fine bones in his hand. “Sounds good,” he says, not moving to locate his phone. “I guess it’s possible I could be heading west at some point – the rest of my family are still in California and I haven’t seen them in a while. Might be nice to know someone I’m not related to out there.”

"Pretty sure I could clear a little space for you in my very busy schedule of bumming around doing nothing,“ Stiles tells him.

"Just a little?”

Stiles grins at him. “I guess I could look into expanding that,” he says.

"I have been very generous,“ Derek says, and it only occurs to him that his sisters and Malia have been suspiciously silent for a long time when he hears Laura giggling and the others hushing her. He ignores them. "Sharing my home and food with you, making you hot chocolate, letting you borrow my clothes so you don’t freeze to death…”

"That’s true,“ Stiles says, nodding. "Maybe I should start figuring out how to repay you for all that generosity before I leave.”

Derek smiles but he’s cut off from saying anything when there’s a clattering from the kitchen that has both of them whipping towards the sound, effectively breaking the delicious bubble of tension around them. Additionally, the scent of blood wafts into the room and that’s enough of a mood killer for Derek in any situation.

Derek releases Stiles’ hand and is halfway across the room before he realises he might have just moved quicker than entirely natural. He forces himself to slow as he barrels through the kitchen door to find Malia clutching her wrist.

"I dropped it,“ Malia says, gritting her teeth and nodding at one of the larger of Derek’s kitchen knives on the floor. "Caught the blade without thinking.”

The wound on her hand is deep enough to suggest she didn’t just catch it but gripped it hard, though it’s slowly healing.

"Stiles is gonna be in here in a second,“ Laura points out, grabbing a dishtowel and mopping up some of the blood before pressing it against Malia’s hand. "Don’t let him see it – Cora, go get the first aid kid. Appearances.”

Derek stands in the doorway staring at them, Cora brushing past to go dig out the first aid kit Derek keeps in the downstairs bathroom for just that - appearances. 'Appearances’ has always been like a code word in their family – if Derek skinned his knee out playing with friends, Talia would press a band aid over the freshly healed skin anyway; if her classmates saw Cora fall out of a tree and break her arm, she’d be at school the following day wearing a cast. They’d taken great care to fit in as much as possible and the habit didn’t die when they left home.

Malia looks up at him, blood soaking into the towel – it had been white only minutes before. Derek wonders if he should just burn it when they’re done, because no amount of his mom’s tips for getting bloodstains out will save it at this point.

"Sorry,“ she says, eyes flicking back towards the dining room in explanation. Derek waves a hand to dismiss the apology just as Stiles appears at his back.

"Everyone okay?” Stiles asks, craning over Derek’s shoulder. Cora reappears with the first aid kit and Laura takes over from there, pulling out antiseptic wipes and gauze.

"Looks worse than it is,“ Malia says, eyes glittering convincingly – they all have the fake tears thing down to a fine art, even Derek. Cora picks the knife off the floor and goes to wash it while Laura makes a fuss over what Derek knows is probably now a more or less invisible wound. He’s careful to stand just far enough away that Stiles won’t be able to see Laura wipe Malia’s palm clean and wrap the uninjured skin.

Laura gets the bandage secured just as Stiles moves further into the room, looking a little green at the amount of blood still on the floor and counter; Derek moves to begin clearing it away.

"Der, where are the painkillers?” Laura asks, rifling through the kit. They won’t have any effect on Malia, but Stiles is likely to notice if Malia forgets she’s meant to be injured and happens to grab something with her bandaged hand.

"They should be in there,“ Derek says, remembering at the last second to add some cold to the otherwise borderline-scalding water coming from the tap. He doesn’t actually remember the last time he checked the first aid box – last time they used it was when Laura brought her new, human, boyfriend over for dinner and he had a headache.

"I probably have something in my bag?” Stiles offers, and then flits out of the room before anyone can agree or disagree. All four of them look at one another before effectively shrugging in unison and setting about clearing up the kitchen again.

"So, I thought you weren’t getting attached,“ Laura says idly, nudging her hip against Derek’s when he starts washing the remaining dishes so that she can take over.

"I’m not,” Derek says, and then sighs and pushes a wet hand through his hair. “I wasn’t. It’s not like – I mean, I’m not lonely, but I guess it’s been a while.”

Laura gives her the trademark Hale Disbelieving Eyebrows. “Der, you don’t do casual.”

"Don’t remind me,“ Derek tells her, ushering Malia away when she goes to pick up a dish towel in order to resume drying. "He’s nice; I like him, but he’s going home and for all we were talking—there’s no guarantee he’ll come back, and I don’t think I’m prepared to do long distance. It might be different if we were already dating and he went home for a while, but starting something now? It won’t work. He’s looking to get his life started; I’m kept fairly busy with my own work.”

Laura rolls her eyes but it’s Cora who snorts and speaks up. “You’re self-employed,” she says. “You can work from anywhere.”

"Here’s home,“ Derek says stubbornly. "I’m not going to pack up and sell it just because of a guy. I’ve spent the best part of ten years making it home – we all have. I’m not going to give it up on a whim, no matter how attracted I am to someone.”

"We hear you,“ Laura says softly, and Derek hadn’t realised quite how distressed he’d been getting until her reassurance washes over him like a tangible thing. "We’re not telling you to leave – none of us want that – and none of us would let you sell this place; we rent our apartments for a reason – they’re not home. I just—I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you look at anyone like that, Der. Maybe taking a chance on this guy will be worth it.”

Stiles comes back at that moment and suspends any further discussion. He hands Malia a couple of pills and potters around until Malia links her arm with his and they go through to the den to put on a movie. Cora follows soon after and Laura cracks open another bottle of wine before traipsing through once all the dishes are done and put away. Derek shrugs on a fleece and steps out onto the back porch, tipping his face towards the – considerably lighter – falling snow and letting it cool his flushed cheeks – the wine combined with the heating being up high and his family grilling him has left him feeling a little overwarm.

*

He’s not left alone long. Stiles seeks him out a little while later; he steps out onto the porch wrapped in one of Derek’s jackets and a blanket from the couch and shuffles over to lean on the railing beside him.

"Your sisters are fun,“ he says; Derek hums in agreement. "They were talking about how you basically built this house yourself.”

"It was a fixer-upper,“ Derek says, then shrugs because that’s an understatement. "A lot of the structural work is new, but it was a project I gave myself when I spent a few years needing to not be in my own head for a while. Built something to contradict the fact I felt like I did nothing but ruin everything for a while. I mean, I had contractors and builders – I didn’t physically do it all myself, but… yeah. I did a lot of research and design-approving.”

"It’s impressive,“ Stiles says. "It’s beautiful.”

Derek smiles. “Thanks.”

Stiles shivers and Derek automatically leans closer. “I noticed a fundamental decorating flaw, though,” he says, breath puffing out of him.

"Oh yeah? What’s that?“

"Well, I mean, there’s the huge Christmas tree and all the garlands and wreaths – it looks like a home decorating catalogue’s wet dream,” Stiles says slowly. “But there’s no mistletoe.”

Derek smothers a grin. Both because Stiles had looked and because it’s another in the exhaustive list of situations they have excuses for. “I’m allergic,” he says, glancing at Stiles and finding him almost tucked right up against Derek’s side. “Plus, I was only expecting family to be here, and mistletoe might have been a little creepy. I wasn’t exactly expecting you.”

There. That’s as bald a hint as he can give.

Stiles smirks down at the porch rail. “So, I don’t have to run all over New York to find some mistletoe just to have an excuse to kiss you right now?”

Derek turns more fully towards him. Laura’s voice filters through his mind telling him to take a chance. “Considering bringing mistletoe anywhere near me will have the opposite effect of the one we’d prefer, I think that’s a safe bet,” he says slowly, helpless against the stupid grin on his face when Stiles finally looks at him properly. “We could pretend it’s there, if you prefer.”

Stiles’ breath catches briefly but he steps closer, until he has to relax his grip on the blanket around his shoulders so that he can curl a hand in the front of Derek’s fleece. Derek rests both of his own hands on Stiles’ waist for a moment, feeling his body expanding and contracting in time with his breathing, until he’s sure of his welcome; when Stiles shuffles nearer still, Derek takes it as invitation to slide his hands around until they’re clasped together against the small of his back.

"Mistletoe’s probably overrated,“ Stiles whispers, eyes darting between Derek’s eyes and his mouth.

"I think so.”

Stiles’ mouth spreads into a smile, but it’s brief on account of the fact they’re kissing a split second later and Derek feels like he might float away. Stiles’ mouth is soft, warm, lips a little chapped from the cold; a little noise spills out of his throat and he grabs for the end of his blanket so that he can pull it around both of their shoulders, arms curling around Derek’s neck.

Derek lets himself be pressed back against the porch railing, lets Stiles’ cold fingers slip down underneath the back of his collar without protest because he feels right; Stiles’ scent soothes him, even the sometimes acrid smell of wine taking a back seat to the combination of Stiles’ faint cologne and the cherry pie they’d had for dessert.

He loses himself in the sensation of Stiles’ lips against his, Stiles’ weight pressing all along his front. As horrifically corny as it sounds even to Derek, he wants to stay here forever: he wants to freeze time in this moment and continue to exist in it even when the rest of the world moves on.

Stiles pulls away a little while later with a shiver and a grin, eyes opening up slowly to meet Derek’s.

Derek rubs his hands up Stiles’ back, feeling the tiny tremors running through him. “Cold?” he asks, clearing his throat when he realises how low his voice has gotten. Stiles’ nose is pink with the cold, cheeks flushed for a whole other reason.

Without waiting for an answer, Derek guides Stiles back inside into the warmth and light of the kitchen, closing and locking the door behind them. Stiles catches his hand and doesn’t let go, uses it to steer Derek back towards him, back into another kiss.

"I’m coming back in January,“ Stiles murmurs against his mouth. "And I don’t have a flight booked for going back to California after that. Figured I’d come back and start phoning around to see about getting some interviews. Think there’ll still be a place for me to crash for a while?”

Derek tugs him closer using the blanket still draped around his shoulders. “For as long as you need.”

Stiles sinks into him, not kissing but resting their foreheads together, eyes falling closed.

"Might not have been what I expected, or even hoped for, but this is still the best Christmas I’ve had in a really long time.“

Derek squeezes him, knowing he’s about to say something sappy and too hopeful but unable to stop it. "Maybe we can have it in California next year.”

Stiles doesn’t laugh, doesn’t pull away or tell him he’s thinking way too far ahead, way too fast. His scent prickles with surprise and pleasure, like he loves that idea. Any even faint notion Derek might have had that this would be anything even close to something casual dissipates in that instant.

Stiles hums and buries his cold nose in Derek’s neck. “Can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://obroech.tumblr.com/)! Come say hi :)


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